


What Moves The Stars

by uncleanakin (unclemoriarty)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, leia and rey bonding, set on the day rey leaves d'qar to go find luke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-02 01:53:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11499294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unclemoriarty/pseuds/uncleanakin
Summary: Based on the prompt:most people are born with three names tattooed on their wrist: their biggest enemy, their greatest ally, and their true love"She remembers the way he looked at her, the way he said those then-confusing, but now all-too-clear words:It’s you."**EDIT: this fic was previously known as "it's you". I've decided to merge this with a slow burn fic I had been previously planning, so the next update won't be for a while bc (a) I have a lot on my plate, (b) I don't like updating when I don't have the next chapter in the works. I recommend subscribing if you like this fic so you'll be notified when I update**





	What Moves The Stars

Laying on her cot are new clothes. When Rey first walks into her temporary room in the Resistance barracks, she almost passes them by, not realizing they’re for her.

(There never had been use for yearning for new, clean clothes on Jakku; a scavenger like her was lucky she had been able to find enough scraps of fabric to make her own clothes.)

Then she remembers she’s on D’Qar, not Jakku, remembers she’s about to go search for the greatest Jedi of all time, and picks the outfit up. It’s grey: a vest, trousers, a shirt, even arm wraps. Arm wraps… So General Organa has noticed she covers her arms. But does she know the reason why?

She lets that thought fall to the floor with her pieced-together clothes. It’s time to appreciate her gift, not worry. She dresses slowly, relishing the feeling of the new fabric on her skin. Shrugging on her vest, she runs her hands over it lightly. It’s so soft. Not surprising, since it isn’t stiff with old sweat and roughened by sand. She slides on the arm wraps, hoping for—yes! Her wrists aren’t visible. Thank the Force.

Absently, she runs a finger on the inside of her left wrist, feeling the lines, angles, and curves of the raised letters on her skin. Those same lines, angles, and curves that she memorized long ago, before all of…this. She pulls her hand away and re-covers her wrist. She has to stop this. Especially now. Especially _here_.

Once she has bundled up her old clothes, she heads out of the room and down the hallway. She turns the corner and there’s General Organa walking towards her, completely ignorant of what’s on Rey’s wrist. If Rey is careful, she will stay that way. “Rey! So, what do you think?”

Rey smiles. “I love it! Thank you so much, general.”

“Oh, just ‘Leia’ is fine.” She gestures to the clothes in Rey's hands. “Want me to get those cleaned?” The name _Han Solo_ in quick, blocky letters peeks out from under the edge of Leia’s black sleeve.

“Cleaned? Yes, if you can do that, thank you.” Leia takes the bundle with her datapad-free hand. They exit the barracks and walk in silence for a while. Pilots and mechanics jog by them to the hangar on the left, but all Rey sees are lines, angles, curves. Quick ones, like Leia’s, but thick and dark and written in a large scrawling script that curls around the inside of the top of her wrist. She shakes her head in a vain attempt to scatter the letters, make them meaningless. _Get. Out. Of. My. Head._ No answer. Of course. What did she think, that he could somehow hear her?

“Hey.” Leia’s voice grounds her. She’s looking at Rey curiously, concern in her eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

Rey bites the inside of her cheek. “It’s nothing, really.” Her voice doesn't sound as light as she had hoped it would.

“Oh, please. I’ve used that line more than I’ve seen Han try—“ She stops. “Just tell me. You’ll feel better, I promise. What’s on your mind?”

Rey’s hand tugs her grey sleeve again, but this time it clamps over her wrist, as if the arm wrap wasn’t covering it enough. “Do you…” Her voice falters. “Do you know what the names are for?”

Leia blinks. “Names?”

“On our wrists.”

“Oh. I thought you knew..." She glances down at Rey's hand clasping her wrist. "They’re the names of your soulmates: your greatest enemy, your closest ally, and your true love. You can guess what this one is.” Leia taps Han’s name with a finger. “ _Was_.” The morning light catches on something glistening in her eye.

It’s Rey’s turn to blink. “But what if you only—How do you know which one is which?”

“In my experience, you’ll just know.” The datapad in Leia’s hand beeps. She looks at it, scrolls down the message, frowns. “I’m sorry, Rey, I have to go.” Her hand gives Rey’s covered arm a squeeze. “But we can talk more later, okay? We have time before you leave.”

“Thanks,” murmurs Rey as Leia walks off, and then she’s alone again. Yet, not completely alone. After what happened on Starkiller, no, never truly alone again. She doesn’t know how she knows that. She just…knows.

Leia promised she would feel better, but Rey doubts what she’s feeling is ‘better’. She’s suddenly aware of the name at the top of her wrist. There’s a kind of tugging feeling…almost the same sensation that pulls on the invisible string tied around her chest. Determinedly not looking, she pulls back her sleeve and rubs at the letters with her palm, hoping the friction will get rid of the ‘tugging’.

The feeling persists. Her gaze drifts downwards to her hands, but she quickly looks away. No, she can’t give in. She needs to forget this, forget everything Leia said, forget _him._ But oh, how could she? She looks down.

There, darker than ever on her pale wrist, are those lines, angles, and curves that Rey sees every night in her daydreams, in her nightmares. Those same lines, angles, and curves, that held no meaning to her until two days ago. Those lines, angles, and curves that spell out the _only_ name on her skin: **_Ben Solo_**.

She remembers the way he looked at her, the way he said those then-confusing, but now all too-clear words: _It’s you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> liked it? please leave a comment and a kudos!  
> those things really help motivate me to write :)

**Author's Note:**

> remember, dear readers, comments on fics -> happy writers -> motivated writers ->more fics! (most of the time. depends on how much time they have)  
> (writers especially love specific feedback, if you're wondering what to comment. pick a fav line and talk about why it's your fav or something. and i'm not saying this for myself--all writers love this. this is an inside tip from me to you to help motivate writers write more fics that you love!)  
> thanks for leaving a kudos and a comment!


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